


The (Unmade) Marriage Bed

by tiredhealer



Category: Favour of the Scribes, Original Work
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, the winslows are soulmates and also milf 4 dilf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 09:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredhealer/pseuds/tiredhealer
Summary: Marriage has changed them both for the better. But there are a few ways in particular it has changed Pluto, and Lillians' about to show her appreciation for them.(Or: Lillian worships Pluto)
Relationships: Pluto Winslow/Lillian Winslow
Kudos: 4





	The (Unmade) Marriage Bed

Lillian thought she knew what to expect with marriage to Pluto Winslow. She knew about the curse, of course, the blood debt to be paid and paid in full. She knew marrying Pluto would mean breaking Orla’s heart and driving a wedge as wide as the ocean between her and Ronan. She knew it would mean facing death sooner than most: facing their god, headlong, and paying for a crime so old it would have withered and faded away were it mortal. But it wasn’t mortal, and so it endured. 

She fell asleep on their wedding night sure she was ready. And then woke early, with Pluto snoring at her side, his hair spread over the pillow, his face soft in sleep. Her heart fluttered in her chest so hard it ached, so hard she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had prepared for a lot of things: she had not prepared for the way Pluto would undo her in dozens of different little ways.

It's strange now, to think back on the things she was so sure of all those years ago. She felt so grown up when they got married, so self-assured, ready to swallow the world whole as Pluto at her side. Looking back on it, they were kids, stumbling into their new lives together with their only care being together.

She’s grateful for the girl she was, the one who grabbed Pluto Winslow with both hands and decided she was never going to let go. The girl who grew into the woman she is today, who is still holding on, who  _ still  _ never plans on letting go until she absolutely has to, when the whale comes calling.

There’s one thing that’s changed though: it’s a little hard to hold Pluto with just her two hands.

‘Wife,’ he calls from the kitchen, where he’s just returned from taking their washing off the line. His voice has a little whine of unhappiness to it, that worries her until he adds, ‘Did you wash the woollens differently?’

And that makes her grin instead. She has not washed the woollens differently. She knows  _ exactly  _ what’s happened.

She leaves the bedding where she was unfolding it upstairs and walks down to where she can see Pluto in the kitchen, his back to her, his old blue jumper straining around him. She can feel the glint in her eye, knowing that when he turns to look at her, he’ll see what she’s up to straight away.

But who can blame her? Marriage has been  _ good  _ to Pluto. He was never thin, never scrawny, but he was leaner before, smaller. Years of good cooking – or, well, years of cooking in some cases when it comes to Lillian’s skills – and working the forge have worked together to make Pluto’s arms thick, his shoulders broad and his stomach delightfully, wonderfully  _ soft.  _ His stomach has two thick rolls, a heavy overhang, his hips softened to love-handles and his thighs round and thick.

He’s gorgeous, he’s perfect, and she hasn’t even gotten around to thinking about his ass yet.

In the kitchen, she steps slowly over the floorboards, trying to memorise which ones creak so she can avoid them. It doesn’t work, and on the last step before him gives her away. He’s halfway to turning so she takes her chance and lunges, getting her arms around his waist where his jumper is refusing to pull over his overhang.

‘Hello husband,’ she croons in his ear.

Pluto startles as she grabs him, then relaxes back into her. He’s so big in her arms, so warm and blissfully soft. He’s worth every sacrifice she’s ever made, a thousand times over, and she presses a kiss against his neck at the thought.

‘Hello wife,’ he says and yanks at his jumper again. It covers his stomach, then as soon as he releases it the wool begins to creep back up. ‘The jumper’s shrunk in the wash.’

Lillian squeezes her hands around the heavy droop of his stomach and rubs her thumb back and forth over the hair that trails below his navel. ‘Is that what y’think has happened, love?’

He huffs and tries to pull it down again. It goes as well as all the other times he’s tried it. ‘Must have. Used to fit fine.’

Lillian hums against his neck and places another kiss against his throat, against the fine lines where his gills are closed. Pluto shivers in her arms. ‘Used to, yeah. How many years ago?’

‘I...’ Pluto hums. Keeps on with his fruitless task of tugging. ‘It  _ is  _ old, a little threadbare. I suppose it must have happened over time and I didn’t notice.’

Lillian lifts his overhang and lets it drop, revelling in the way his stomach bounces beneath her hands. ‘Love, I don’t think it’s the jumper.’

‘What else could it be?’

He sounds genuinely confused. Helias above, but she loves him.

‘Husband,’ she takes his hands and turns him around so they’re facing each other. ‘It’s you.’

Pluto blinks at her and his cheeks turn a delightful shade of lavender. ‘Me…’

‘You,’ she nods, grinning wide.

He looks down at himself. Hums beneath his breath and takes one of his hands from hers to pat at the softness of himself. ‘I suppose I am a little bigger.’

‘Aye,’ Lillian says in agreement.

He looks back up at her, lavender with blush, and squints. ‘I know that look.’

She knows he does. She’s his wife, after all. She smiles wider and lets him see, lets him know  _ exactly  _ what she’s thinking.

‘You’ve already noticed,’ he says slowly.

Lillian nods, advancing on him. They back up until he’s against the table, until Lillian is in his arms, pressed up against the softness of him.

‘Marriage has been good to you, husband,’ she says. Lillian pushes her hands under his jumper to roam over the warmth of his stomach, rubbing her fingers against the rolls on his side, squeezing them gently.

Pluto shudders in her arms and kisses her, with tongue and teeth and the unbridled, wild desire she knows most wouldn’t think Pluto capable of. They think he’s quiet, and shy, but Pluto knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to reach for it.

He reaches for her, wrapping his arms around her, squeezing her hips – and he isn’t the only one who’s changed, she knows marriage has filled her out too, turned her wide at the hips, thick in the thighs. Her breasts are heavier than they used to be, they hang a little lower – and life is too short to worry about perky breasts. Her stomach is softer, with a soft droop to it. Through her runs a current of muscle, a strength that lets her raise her great axe and charge to defend Bracehill when they need her. But there’s a softness too, a warmth that wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for her marriage, her home, her husband.

She presses all of this into the kiss as her hands continue to squeeze and rub at Pluto’s chest. They move up, rubbing at the sheen of his top-surgery scars, tracing those scaled lines with her fingertips. She remembers the long weeks she spent carefully helping him button shirts and bathe when the wounds were too tender to do it himself. She remembers too the way he looked at himself, the soft wonder, like he was finally seeing what she had seen all along: he’s gorgeous, he’s perfect, he’s the best man to ever walk the world.

‘We are supposed to be doing house work,’ Pluto says, even as he gets his hands around her ass and squeezes.

Lillian laughs into his mouth. ‘We are.’

Then his tongue is in her mouth again, and Lillian’s pushing him backwards to get him to lean against the table and nudging open his thighs with her knee. She steps between his legs and breaks the kiss to pull the too-small jumper off and away. Beneath her, he is big and beautiful and she takes a minute just to watch him, even as she can see the blush spreading down his throat.

‘Are you going t’spend all night looking?’ he asks with an arch of a thick eyebrow. He can be a brat, can her husband.

Lillian smirks at him. There are nights she might give in to his baiting, might edge him until he’s gasping and panting, a writhing mass of pleasure that can only beg her for more.

Tonight isn’t that night. Tonight, she wants to please him. She wants to show him just how much she loves his body, loves him.

Lillian leans down, kissing first along the broad stretch of his shoulders. She works from left to right, over the swell of muscle and along his throat, across the rise of his collarbone, over to the other shoulder. Then she mouths down the top of his right arm, licking and sucking at the scaled skin and the swell of muscle beneath. She parts her lips wider and bites down, just hard enough to leave an indent of her teeth.

Beneath her, Pluto bucks his teeth and hisses. She can feel his half-hard cock pressing against her already.

He’s going to have to wait: she isn’t close to being done with him.

Lillian kisses back to his chest, mouthing over his nipples to take them in her mouth and suck. They aren’t sensitive anymore, but the gesture still makes him moan beneath her.

‘You’re so gorgeous, love,’ she whispers, trailing kisses along his scars, flicking her tongue against the scales to taste him. He tastes of the sea, always the sea, but around that there’s a warmth, a tang that is uniquely Pluto.

‘Aye?’ he pants above her, his hands grabbing at her shoulders. He’s not trying to hold her still, simply hold onto her, like he’ll come unmoored if he doesn’t.

She grins and pinches her teeth around the bottom of his scar, hard enough he groans. ‘Aye,’ she agrees. ‘My handsome, strong man.’

She steals his reply by squeezing his love handles, digging in her blunted nails and dragging them along to leave impressions in his skin. He arches for her, head tipped back amongst the clothes he was folding on the table. They’re making a mess of the neat piles he’d made.

Somehow, Lillian suspects he’ll decide it was worth it.

She trails her mouth down to the soft roll beneath his chest, sucking and biting at the plump skin. Pluto is painted like artwork, his skin shifting various shades of blue and purple and faint hints of green. He is the ocean at its best: when it is soft and serene and glows with light.

Lillian kneads and squeezes his stomach with greedy hands and open mouthed-kisses. She bites and sucks, sinking her mouth around him to hear the way he pants and moans above her. She pulls back only one to turn one of the kitchen chairs around so that she can kneel on it, giving her the stability she needs to stay kneeling between his spread legs for as long as she likes.

She lavishes attention upon his stomach with her lips and tongue and teeth, leaving the blue skin streaked with patches of deep purple where she’s lingered. He’s soft and pliable beneath her, doing nothing but grabbing her where he can to hold, otherwise happy to be kissed, to be ravished.

A blasphemous thought: kneeling like this she’s practically praying. Lillian smirks against his skin. Oh, to offer prayers against his flesh with her mouth, to press her devotion into him with her nails as she squeezes his overhang and tugs at one of his heavy stomach rolls.

Can Helias read minds? Lillian shrugs and licks a strip between two swells of fat: if she can, well, Lillian’s marked for death anyway. What’s a little bit of blasphemy to a blood curse?

She could spend hours like this, worshipping her husband with her mouth and her hands. But she can hear his desperate breaths, can see the strain of his cock through his breeches. She takes mercy upon poor Pluto Winslow and pulls back, resting her hand against the rise of his second roll and smirking at him.

Like this, with his skin practically purple from blush, his dark hair spread over the table, his eyes blown wide, he’s the most gorgeous thing she’s ever seen. Does she think this every time they’re together? Yes. Does it stop it from being true every time? No.

‘Do you want to go upstairs, love?’ she asks. She can feel how swollen her lips are from kissing and it just makes her grin harder.

Pluto pants up at her, ‘If I can move.’

Lillian raises her eyebrows and then grabs the bottom of her smock, yanking it up and over her head. It was chore day, a quiet day around the house, so she’s not wearing a bra. The cold of the room pebbles her nipples almost instantly.

His eyes widen, his flushed mouth goes slack.

‘How’s that for motivation?’ she says.

Pluto looks at her with such want, such open, unabashed reverence, that it makes her flush the same as it did the first time they were together.

‘Aye, that’ll do it.’ He reaches for her and she shimmies off the chair, stepping just out of reach.

‘Race you.’

‘Torture wife, you’re torturing me.’

Lillian blows him a kiss as he struggles to sit up. Once he’s up she’s running, shedding her breeches as she goes, laughing as she staggers with them around her ankles and bumps into the wall. Pluto’s laugh is warm and low as he rushes after her, as his trousers join her own in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

He catches up with her as they reach the bedroom and gets his arms around her waist, spinning her around as she shrieks with delight. Her heart is warm and heavy in her chest: she loves him, loves him more than anything. Did Helias really think a blood curse could keep her from him?

They collapse onto the bed in a heap, sending the bedding she was folding early bouncing to the floor. Lillian pays it no mind: she’s far too busy kissing her husband.

As Pluto gets his tongue in her mouth she moans and arches her hips, pressing every inch of herself against him. They kiss like that for a long time, on their sides, pressed together, Pluto’s cock hard against her hip. He squeezes the thick arch of her hip, kneads his weathered fingers against her ass and she pants pleasure into his mouth.

Then she raises up, she pushes him onto his back and straddles his hips. Lillian grins down at him as she takes his cock in one hand and rests the other against the solid weight of his stomach. She’s wet, but she doesn’t want anything more, she wants to go straight to his cock.

It’s a stretch, it always is, and she loves it, loves the way the thickness of him pushes inside and urges her open around him. Lillian tips her head back and closes her eyes, revelling in the feel of it, the way he slowly slides inside her. Its bliss, the ache of it, the way her body opens up for him. Pluto grabs her hips to hold her steady, and says her name on a sigh as she fucks herself down onto him.

Once every inch is inside her she stays still, just feeling it, her hands idly toying with his stomach. He’s so soft and warm and steady beneath her. ‘You’re perfect,’ she says.

She waits until he opens his mouth to reply then rolls her hips, snatching his words as they turn to a strangled moan instead.

‘Torture!’ he says, squeezing her hips tight. ‘Again, I have a torturer for a wife.’

Lillian laughs, rocking her hips down again to watch the way he crumbles beneath her. ‘Don’t lie to me, husband. I know you don’t mind a bit of pain.’

‘Aye,’ he drawls, and the look in his eye is heavy enough to make her clench around him. ‘You know me well, wife.’

She gives up on teasing then. She wants him too much, so badly it feels like a weight in her chest. Lillian rocks her hips down, circles them, arches up then snaps back down to fuck him back inside of her, hard. They fall into a frantic, desperate rhythm, grasping at each other, their hips snapping together, their bodies growing flush and sticking where they’re pressed together.

Pluto’s hands slide up her body, cupping her breasts, squeezing desperately at her nipples hard enough she shouts his name in bliss. It’s a good thing the Winslow cottage is as isolated as it is, in her opinion.

She might be biased.

Her orgasm is a quick, bright thing; it coils between her thighs, tightens in her gut, then she shakes and trembles, clenching her hands tight against him. Beneath her, Pluto moans in tandem, his fingers tugging and rubbing at her nipples as she cums.

When she’s finished, she pants, her thrusts slowing as the trembling in her thighs subsides. Then she looks down at Pluto and leans over, taking his chin in her hands. She begins to rock her hips again, the angle sharper now she’s leaning over him.

Pluto grabs her ass to help her move, his hands large and warm as they roam down her back to hold her tight. Like this, she can kiss him, she can watch as pleasure coils across his face and unravels him. She loves watching Pluto cum. Loves to feel it; the way his hips stutter, the way his cock spasms inside her as he spills. Most of all she loves to see the way he bites his lower lip, she loves to hear the low drag of his groan, she loves the way his face tightens and then breaks as he climaxes.

Her husband is the most perfect man alive. She’ll fight anyone who says otherwise – she has before.

‘Yes,’ she whispers as he cums, as he shakes apart. ‘That’s it darling, get me wet with it.’

He groans from behind clenched teeth as he fucks up into her again and again then stiffens as he peaks, as he spills hot inside her. Lillian moans in time with him at the way it feels, still rocking her hips until he’s through it.

She slowly slides off of his cock but stays close, not willing to be parted. Lillian curls up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and smiling smugly.

‘We were supposed to be doing chores,’ Pluto whispers. But he’s holding her as he says it, placing a feather-light kiss to her forehead.

‘You could have stayed downstairs,’ Lillian points out.

‘As if I’d ever leave my wife alone when she wanted me.’

‘When she  _ needed  _ you.’

He grins, a beautiful soft and crooked thing. ‘Aye, when she needed me.’

Lillian slings her leg over him to cuddle closer. ‘Besides, I was halfway through changing the bedding anyway. We just made sure it got used totally before being washed.’

‘Totally used,’ Pluto says, dropping his head back with a sigh. He closes his eyes, looking blissed out and content. That’s how he should always look. ‘I understand how it feels.’

‘Pluto Winslow, are you implying I used you?’ She manages not to laugh. For a whole second.

‘Aye!’ He says, cracking too, laughing as he pulls her tight against him. ‘I am!’

‘You’re a little right,’ she kisses him for good measure. ‘I can’t help that I have the most gorgeous husband in all of Bracehill though, now can I?’

‘I suppose not,’ he grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and drags it up around them. They should go wipe down, not nap, but Pluto looks like he’s dozing off and Lillian feels a warm, pleasant ache in her bones. She could rest, for a little while. Especially if it’s with him.

‘And I have the most perfect wife,’ he says, voice slurring with sleep.

‘I thought we were supposed to be doing chores.’

His eyes close as he says, ‘Later.’

Lillian lets him rest. She knows what they’ll be doing later – and it won’t be chores. But he can find that out in his own time. For now, she kisses him softly, and lets her husband sleep. 


End file.
